


you shine so bright it hurts sometimes

by milominderbinder



Series: maia's shameless fic a day in the month of may [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, Rule 63, Self Confidence Issues, cis girl!gallavich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 17:26:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milominderbinder/pseuds/milominderbinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micki's always <i>known</i> she's not pretty.  Growing up with Mandy only one step behind her, and now dating <i>Ian</i>, who is basically some kind of fucked up hell goddess designed to strike lust into the loins of anyone who so much as glances at her, it's been damn obvious that Micki's plain in comparison.  She's not pretty, and it's not a big deal.</p><p>At least, that's what she tells herself - until one late night conversation with Ian turns into a self-esteem workshop she didn't plan for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you shine so bright it hurts sometimes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [you shine so bright it hurts sometimes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3652254) by [KittyKate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyKate/pseuds/KittyKate)



Micki’s about to fall asleep when she hears the door slam.

It startles her back properly awake, and she straightens up from where she’d been slumped on the couch, rubs the sleep out of her eyes and blinks them open just in time to see Ian appearing in front of her.  Ian looks as beat as Micki feels.  Her makeup is smudged around her eyes, her long hair piled up messily on top of her head, old gray duffle coat done up wrong, like she’d thrown it on without even realising what she was doing.  Her legs are bare where they’re poking out of the bottom of it, her knees still scraped from where she’d fallen over chasing Liam around the yard the other day.  Micki smiles, despite herself.

“Hey,” says Ian when she sees Micki, her tired face suddenly lighting up.  She changes direction from where she’d been headed to the bedroom and drops down onto the couch instead, folding her knees up and draping one leg over Micki’s lap.  “I tell you every fucking night, you don’t have to wait up for me.”

“And every fucking night, I do,” Micki responds, flicking Ian’s knee playfully.  “You might as well save your breath.”

Ian grins, and leans over to place a sloppy kiss against Micki’s mouth.  It’s clearly not going anywhere - Micki thinks she’d probably fall asleep against Ian’s pussy if they tried to have sex right now - but it’s still nice, and Micki lets herself sigh into it from a moment.

When they pull apart, Ian runs a hand over her face, smearing her makeup even more, and then shrugs out of her coat.  She’s still wearing her diner uniform underneath, the pale orange and yellow which clash so horribly with her complexion and yet somehow still manage to look adorable.  She’s wearing her nametag, too, _Lilian,_ which never fails to make Micki laugh.  She’s never once heard anyone but batty Sheila call Ian by her full name.

“So five guys tried to give me their number tonight,” Ian says conversationally, her fingers trailing idly across Micki’s collarbone where it’s exposed by her baggy t-shirt.

“Any of ‘em get creepy?” Micki asked.  It was always her first concern with Ian working at that shitty diner - or with Ian working _anywhere,_ really, because she was so fucking gorgeous, and Micki was always more terrified than she could really put into words than some psycho was gonna take that the wrong way, think it was for _them_ or something.  Ian’s not exactly led a sheltered life but Micki still worries, still thinks about where she’d hide the body if anyone _did_ hurt Ian like that.

“Not really,” says Ian, thankfully, though it’s not the answer she gives every night and she _has_ had to restrain Micki from going on a revenge spree more than once.  “Nobody pinched my ass or anything, don’t worry, I’m all yours today.”

Micki smiles a little at that.  Ian’s still idly tracing her collarbone, and she’s still idly resting her hand on Ian’s knee, and she thinks sometimes that she’s never happier than when they’re curled up together like this.

“Can’t say I blame ‘em, then,” Micki teases, sliding her hand a little further up Ian’s leg just to prove her point.  “Dunno if I’ve ever mentioned this, but you’re _kinda_ hot.”

“Hmm, I could say the same about you,” Ian responds.  Her voice is playful, almost purring, but it just confuses Micki.  Micki is wearing threadbare pajama shorts and a ripped t-shirt that was once Iggy’s, and her hair is greasy, and on a more permanent level she’s stick thin and never wears makeup and tends to dress like a guy; she doesn’t even think it’s worth _comparing_ her and Ian, who is basically some kind of fucked up hell goddess designed to strike lust into the loins of anyone who so much as glances at her.  Micki snorts before she can help herself at the idea that she and Ian are even playing the same fucking _game,_ let alone in the same league.

“Yeah, right,” she says, shaking her head slightly.  “Hey, come on, let’s go to bed.”

“In a minute,” says Ian.  Her voice is suddenly more serious, and her brow is furrowed into a frown.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What, _go to bed?_ Well, it’s this fun thing some people do when they’re so beat they can hardly keep their eyes open, thought we could give it a try, see what all the fuss is about -”

“ _No,”_ Ian says, not even rolling her eyes - clearly something about this is serious.  “I mean, why did you just laugh when I tried to call you hot?  That’s not funny, I was fuckin’ flirting, it wasn’t a _joke.”_

Micki shifts, suddenly uncomfortable.  She pushes Ian’s knee off her lap, reaches for the pack of smokes on the table just so she’ll have something to do with her hands, shrugs.

“It’s not like it matters or anything,” she says, lighting up the cigarette.  “I mean, I know you - _like_ me and stuff, I’m not insecure and shit like that, but - I mean, we’re not exactly on the same level, Ian.  You got a thousand guys who want to fuck you, you’ve got the best rack in the universe and legs for miles and all that shit, it’s not like the two of us really _compare._  I mean, if I cut my hair off I’m pretty sure most people’d think I was a ten year old boy.”

Micki is trying to think of a time when she and Ian have ever discussed this before, but she’s coming up blank.  She’d just kind of assumed they’d _had_ this conversation, or that it was going unspoken but understood - Ian’s the hot one, and Micki’s the tomboy, there’s nothing exactly _wrong_ with it but that’s just the way it is.  But apparently they _haven’t_ been on the same page about it, something which Micki can’t quite comprehend.

“Micki, how can you _say_ that shit?” Ian asks, her mouth hanging open.  She shoves herself closer to Micki on the couch, steals the cigarette out of Micki’s lips and lets it dangle between her own fingers, ash dropping to the floor.

“I’m just not - _pretty,_ okay,” Micki says, staring at a loose thread in the carpet.  “It’s not like I care, I mean, I’ve always known it - growing up with fuckin’ Mandy right behind me, it was pretty obvious, and now with you, it’s - I mean, it doesn’t _matter.”_

Micki doesn't know why she’s stuttering, struggling to get the words out, because it _doesn’t_ matter.  At least, that’s what she’s always told herself.  It’s not like she’s ever wanted guys to want to fuck her, she doesn’t really want anyone but _Ian_ to want to fuck her and Ian definitely wants that so it’s _fine_.  Maybe a few times, when she was a kid, it had stung that Mandy seemed to get so much more attention, that Micki was wearing her brothers’ hand me downs but Mandy somehow got all new stuff, or even that the other girls in Micki’s class were always prettier than her, softer, with moms who did their hair and bought them dresses and taught them how to sit like a lady.  But Micki could handle it, not having that stuff.  She’d _had_ to handle it.  And she’d grown to like it over the years, kind of, to wear it like some sort of armour.

“Micki,” says Ian, voice soft.  She stubs the cigarette out on the table and climbs into Micki’s lap, loops her arms around Micki’s neck, buries her hands in Micki’s hair.  “You are fucking _gorgeous._ I swear, I can’t keep my eyes off you half the time, it’s genuinely dangerous, I’ll be cooking or something and you’ll walk past in your underwear and I’ll stand there drooling for so long I nearly burn the house down.  Fiona laughs at me about it all the time.  She says it’s like I’m drunk, the second I look at you.”

“Yeah, but that’s because we’re - _together,_ ” Mickey says, struggling not to meet Ian’s eyes when they’re almost nose to nose.  “I mean, it’s not like anyone else wants me.  And I don’t _care.”_

She adds that quickly on the end, wants to reassure Ian that it’s okay, but Ian just thumps her on the back.  She looks almost _angry._

“Micki, shut _up,”_ she says.  “Oh my god, I never realised you had all these freaking self esteem issues, Jesus, you’re so much fucking _work._ Just - listen.  Your body is perfect.   _Perfect._ I know you’re not girly or whatever and I love that, but you’re still _hot,_ and I’m not the only one who thinks so.  You remember last year when I broke Lip’s nose, and I wouldn’t tell you why?  It’s because he saw you in the shower and got a hard on.  And last time you visited me at work, and you were wearing those little shorts?  Some guy came up to me and asked me to give _you_ his number.  And I almost punched him, too!  Anyone who doesn’t think you’re pretty is _crazy._  You’ve got gorgeous long hair and big blue eyes and _perfect_ skin, you look like something from a fucking fairytale.”

Micki feels like she can’t breathe, for a second.  She stares at Ian, their faces just an inch apart, and she can’t actually breathe.  She rests her hands on Ian’s hips, squeezes hard.  Then -

“Okay,” she says, quietly.  Ian blinks, looks shocked.

“Okay?” she responds, shifting in Micki’s lap.  Micki shrugs, breaks into a grin.

“Yeah, okay.  If you say I’m pretty, I’m pretty.”

“You’re more than _pretty,”_ says Ian, but she’s smiling too, and she seems happy with Micki’s agreement.

“Okay,” Micki repeats, just grinning wider.  She places a quick kiss to Ian’s lips.  “So, can we go to bed now?”

Ian pauses for a second, then giggles disbelievingly.

“Fine,” she says, scrambling up out of Micki’s lap and taking hold of Micki’s hand to drag her up too.  “Bed it is.  But I should warn you, I don’t think I’m so tired, anymore.”

“That right?” asks Micki, laughing.  She lets herself be pulled up, then loops her arms around Ian’s waist, slides a hand down the back of Ian’s leg.

“Yeah.  So maybe I should show you what I meant about how crazy you drive me.”

**Author's Note:**

> for the fic-a-day-in-may challenge, and a prompt from ariadneodair: _girl Mickey feeling she's not as hot as girl ian because she's not girly, and girl ian soothing her girlfriend and generally being a sap_
> 
> hope this was okay! i'm super tired and i wrote this in 30 minutes and didn't edit it or anything, so if it makes no sense... that's why, ahaha
> 
> send me more prompts on tumblr: [mickeymilk](http://mickeymilk.tumblr.com).


End file.
